


Hale and Oats

by loveinisolation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, baker!Derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinisolation/pseuds/loveinisolation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is really just looking for somewhat healthy cake for his dad's birthday - instead he finds "Hale and Oats" a bakery that specializes in healthy foods... and has a smoking hot, if rather grouchy, baker named Derek. And things go down in the kitchen.</p><p>Warnings for barely there food play and bad Hall and Oates jokes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hale and Oats

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written Sterek, and really one of the first times I've written smut, but I had tons of fun writing this! 
> 
> Currently unbeta'd, but I'll give it a read through at some point (in the mean time, apologies for weird mistakes and tense shifts!)
> 
> EDIT: I finally gave this a read to fix the wonky tense shifting, sorry if I've missed anything!
> 
> Written for Julia, who wanted grumpy baker Derek and kitchen sex.

Stiles really didn’t know what to expect from a bakery that specialized in healthy desserts. He had gone searching on Google for somewhere that had healthier options than the standard white cake and icing confections from the grocery store, hoping to find a halfway healthy cake that wouldn’t taste like cardboard so that he wouldn’t feel bad about forcing healthy food on his dad on his birthday.  

He’d come across a bakery just on the edge of town called “Hale and Oats” (and wouldn’t his dad just  _love_ that reference), the website for which cheerfully proclaimed that they used all natural ingredients. It then went on to list grains and other ingredients that Stiles was pretty sure he’d never heard of, and many of which didn’t sound terribly edible. But then, there was a good reason that Stiles was buying a cake and not making it himself; he didn’t really know the first thing about baking, much less when it required more than adding eggs and milk to pre-packaged brownie mix.

The bakery certainly looked nice from the outside, a far cry from the patchouli scented hippie store Stiles had half expected. (He’d berated himself for stereotyping, but seriously, what the hell was carob and why would you even  _consider_ substituting it—or anything else—for chocolate?). He climbed out of his car and made his way into the clean, modern storefront, surprised to find it completely devoid of people given the large number of positive reviews he’d found of the bakery online.

Stiles browsed the glass cases full of baked goods, reading the little labels that stated what kind of cake each was followed by a series of symbols that seemed to indicate things like whether something was vegan or gluten-free. Stiles mostly ignored the symbols, but he must have become engrossed in staring at the swirls decorating the top of one of the cakes because that was what his eyes were fixed on when he was startled by a voice calling a “hello.”

Stiles barely held back a rather high pitched squeak of surprise, stuttering and tripping over his words in an attempt to respond coherently. “Oh, uh, hey, hi!” He managed, regaining his bearings and looking over the counter to meet the eyes of a pretty brunette, and  _good lord_ , why did he always have to be an idiot in front of people he found attractive?

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” The woman asked, causing Stiles to snap his eyes away from where they had drifted towards the v-neck of her t-shirt. He seriously needed to get a better handle on that whole staring off into space and ending up staring inappropriately thing.

“Um, a cake for my dad’s birthday. But I have no idea what half the ingredients that you use are, so I’m a little lost?” The woman laughed lightly at his obvious confusion, and then slid open the back of the case containing the cakes.

“If you want to talk ingredients I’ll drag Derek out here for you, he’s the one that does that baking.  _I_ can tell you all about how they taste though, and I would be willing to bet that’s what you actually want to know!” Stiles nodded, and the woman stuck her hand in the case to point out cakes and describe them. “I can let you taste any of the ones that we have individual slices of, but I can’t cut into a whole cake to give you a sample, obviously, because then you wouldn’t be able to buy it!”

Stiles ended up with a little plate containing narrow little pieces of three kinds of cake to try. He popped the first one in his mouth and chewed, surprised to find that despite the apparent lack of all things bad for you (aka:  _the main ingredients in cake_ ) the cake was actually pretty damn good.

The second piece was a little less to Stiles’ taste, but the third was possibly one of the best things he had tasted  _ever_  and the moment the flavour hit his tongue he was moaning in pleasure. His groans of enjoyment were interrupted by the bang of the kitchen door being swung open so hard it smacked into the wall, and a gruff bellow of “Laura! Where the hell is my—” the voice cut off, and Stiles opened his eyes only find himself faced with a rather ridiculously fine specimen of man, and a rather irate looking Laura.

“Derek,” Laura’s voice was calm in a way that indicated she was anything but pleased, and she cocked her head pointedly towards Stiles, quite obviously telling the man off wordlessly for bursting out of the kitchen the way he had. Stiles, for his part, really could not care that the interruption had possibly been a rude one; he had thought Laura was attractive, but Derek was in a  _whole_ other ballpark of hotness and Stiles was definitely staring.

Full out—jaw dropped open, mouth still full of cake—staring at the well-built man wearing tight jeans, a white tank top and a flour covered apron, taking in the view of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Stiles managed to force his mouth shut so he could stop gawking and finish the bite of cake while Laura and Derek bickered quietly behind the counter. He caught the last of their conversation after managing to shake himself from his stupor; saw Derek’s eyebrows lower in annoyance, and heard Laura’s exasperated sigh before Derek stalked back towards the kitchen.  Stiles couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased with the image of Derek walking away.

“Sorry about that.” Laura said turning back to Stiles. “There’s a reason we tend to keep Derek chained to the stove and don’t let him out near the customers.” Stiles sputtered momentarily at the mental image of Derek chained up, maybe in leather cuffs … he locked the image away to be revisited later in the privacy of his own apartment.

“I. Um?” Laura gave him a quick, knowing smile, and Stiles cleared his throat to made another attempt at words. “Do you remember which cake I just tried? The last one with the cherries? I’ll take one of those.”  

Laura was in the middle of packing up the cake (cherry-chocolate something or other with buttercream frosting, from what Stiles recalled) when Derek appeared from the kitchen again—this time with far less thumping and yelling. “Laura?” He asked, his voice not quite tentative, but certainly less forceful than before. Laura stopped packing up the cake momentarily and turned to Derek while Stiles got caught up in looking at the man yet again. “I  _know_  you don’t want me out here but I actually needed to know if you remember where the extra bag of quinoa ended up. I want to get started on the dough that has to chill.”

“Isn’t it in the pantry?” She asked. Derek just shook his head in answer. Laura sighed, tilting her head back to think. “Oh shit, I think it’s in the big pantry cupboard at home.” Derek clenched his jaw (and _holy hell,_  how did his jaw get any more perfect and square than it had been before? Stiles was about ready to leap across the counter to lick at that jawline to feel the stubble against his tongue and— He seriously needed to stop fantasizing before things got  _more_ awkward).  Laura obviously caught the signs of irritation, “just drive home and get it, what’s the big deal?” she asked Derek.

“I can’t leave the cupcakes that are in right now, you’ll have to go.” Laura huffed out a breath. “Laura, it’s not that big a deal, just close for an hour!” Laura rolled her eyes.

 “Fine. You finish up with,” she waved her hand at Stiles.

“Stiles.” He filled in his name automatically, garnering a brief glance from both Laura and Derek.

“Yes, you finish up with Stiles, and I’ll be back in an hour.” Laura dashed behind the kitchen door and reappeared with coat and keys in hand. She headed towards the front door, but stopped briefly to turn to Stiles, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m really sorry,” she said “I swear we aren’t usually this unprofessional. I feel really bad but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles waved her off, “everyone has days like that. Me more than most.” Laura’s chuckled and a smile broke across her face, and then she flipped the sign on the door to “closed,” waved, and was gone.

Stiles turned back to the counter where Derek had taken over carefully packing up the cake. Stiles wanted to say something; to make conversation with this ridiculously attractive man and  _not_ sound like an idiot. “So, um, you work with your girlfriend? That’s gotta be rough sometimes.” He wants to smack himself as soon as the words are out, because  _seriously_? How is that anywhere near an acceptable question to ask, especially when trying to hit on someone? Sometimes Stiles hates his apparent lack of filter when speaking; words don’t even seem to always go through his brain, much less does he have a chance to stop them from spilling out.

“Laura?” Derek asked, heavy eyebrows furrowing. “She’s my sister.”

“Oh.” Yeah, so Stiles was an idiot. But at least he knew Derek and Laura weren’t dating. Or, well, he assumed not. “It sounded like you live together, and the bickering, so I just … assumed.” Derek shrugged wordlessly and continued taping down the sides of the standard white cake box.

They were quiet for a long moment. Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think of something else to say that might actually make this conversation lead somewhere (preferably somewhere  _sexy)_. He didn’t notice Derek’s eyes where they were glued to the lip Stiles has trapped between his teeth, or the way Derek ripped his eyes away with a huff of breath.

“I just have to go check on the cupcakes, but then I’ll ring this through for you.” Derek said abruptly; he didn’t seem inclined to wait for a response, and he turned, walking back to the kitchen quickly. Stiles watched him go, once again entranced by the image. His eyes caught on dark markings that edged out at the top of the tank top Derek ass wearing, feeling his mouth go dry; there was obviously a tattoo there and he itched to know what it is.

Stiles froze for a long moment, not even thinking about it when he began to move letting his feet carry him around the counter and through the kitchen door.

Derek had clearly already removed the cupcakes from the oven, the tray sitting abandoned on the counter. The kitchen was otherwise nearly spotless, only a bowl of something that looked like icing sitting out on the counter. Derek was leaning beside it, hands resting against the countertop and forehead leaning against the cupboard above. He didn't seem surprised to hear someone walk into the kitchen, hardly even turning his head when he said “you aren’t supposed to be back here.” Stiles kept walking towards him, still unsure what he was doing.

“How are your cupcakes?” Stiles asked inanely. He really didn’t care about the cupcakes at that moment. Derek’s jaw did that clenching thing again, and Stiles was pretty sure he let out a ridiculous little choked off noise because suddenly Derek was actually looking at him. There was a moment that seemed suspended—the air still between them and their eyes locked.

And then there was a sudden flurry of motion and their lips met, the kiss hard and plundering in the best way. They bumped into the counter a couple of times before Stiles ended up backed into the fridge door, Derek’s broad, warm hands holding against his shoulders to keep him there. Stiles groaned into the kiss, because  _yeah_ this was amazing.

They kept kissing there, pressed up against the massive refrigerator for long minutes without stopping, and then Stiles got restless and his hands moved because he really just wanted to  _touch_. He pushed Derek back just enough to get his hands between them more; his hands had been idly sitting on Derek’s waist, fiddling with the fabric of the apron, but suddenly his movements turned purposeful, untying the strings of the apron so that it fell away.

Stiles pulled back further so he could look at Derek, watch as more skin was revealed to him. He moves his hands to Derek’s shirt to remove it (and ok, it barely even counted as a shirt it was so tight and the fabric so thin, and _yep_  those were Derek’s nipples Stiles could see) but ended up staring for a much longer moment than he intended and was interrupted by Derek’s hands trailing down his arms and tugging at the edges of Stiles’s t-shirt until Stiles gave in and raised his arms to let it be pulled off.

Stiles had a brief moment of feeling strangely inadequate, suddenly shirtless and comparing himself to the perfect muscles of Derek’s arms and shoulders and what he could see of his stomach through the clinging white material of his shirt, but it was quickly eclipsed by other sensations as Derek latched his mouth onto the pulse point of Stiles’s neck and began to suck. Stiles squirmed and tilted his head farther to the side to expose his neck, feeling the rumble of Derek’s pleased growl echoing through his body.

Eventually Stiles realizes that, as much as he was enjoying letting Derek pin him to the fridge and mark him (and he  _really, really_ was), he had really wanted to get Derek shirtless and suck a mark into the hinge of his jaw, and maybe trace whatever that damned tattoo was with his tongue, and currently  _none_ of that had happened.

He gave it another moment, because Derek seemed strangely intent on leaving a massive bruised mark on Stiles’s neck and it took a lot of will power for Stiles to want to stop him. Derek gave one particularly hard suck on the already tender skin and Stiles felt pleasure fizzing through his whole body, his hips bucking gently against whatever part of Derek was closest. He moaned, not even trying to hold back the sound, and it all just seemed to spur Derek on.

Stiles panted, his brain not quite thinking any more, and his arms feeling a little weak as he batted at Derek’s shoulders. “Wait, hold on.” His voice was reedy and a little strained, and Derek immediately backed up a step, looking incredibly unhappy about it. “No, where are you going?” Stiles’s hands stopped pushing and started tugging at Derek’s shirt both to get the man closer and to get the offending clothing off his body. Derek looked slightly confused at being pushed away and then pulled closer again, and Stiles tried to clarify through the fog of lust inhabiting his brain. “Don’t want you gone, just want you more naked.”

Derek didn't quite crack a smile, but Stiles thought the twitch of his mouth might be something close to one.

Stiles watched intently as his hands worked to drag Derek’s shirt up and over his head, and then he let his hands trail back down along the muscled ridges of Derek’s stomach. He ducked his head in to lick and bite a path along the hard line of Derek’s jaw the way he'd been wanting to since he first saw it, enjoying the buzzing feel of rough stubble against his lips and tongue.  

It didn’t take long for Stiles to want  _more_. He was hard and uncomfortable in his jeans, and he was sure that Derek couldn’t be comfortable either with his jeans being as tight as they were, and the obvious evidence of his own arousal pressing insistently at Stiles’ hip. Stiles reached for the zipper of Derek’s jeans, fumbling with the button before managing to get them properly undone, and then groaning in frustration when he couldn't push them easily off Derek’s hips. Derek shucked the jeans easily on his own and Stiles watched, eyes stuck on the bounce of Derek’s cock where it was still trapped under (surprisingly stripey) boxer briefs.

He didn’t even wait for Derek to reach for him, Stiles undid his own jeans and tried to strip them off as quickly as he could. He ended up with one foot caught in the pant leg. He hopped around, trying to keep his balance while he freed his stuck foot, and nearly toppled over, only to be caught by Derek’s hand on his shoulder holding him up. Derek kissed him hard, and Stiles managed to just barely get his foot unstuck before he was moving his hands unthinkingly to scrabble against Derek’s shoulders and pull him closer.

“Floor.” Stiles said after a while, and it didn't take them long to maneuver onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Derek managed to prop himself up against the drawers and Stiles clambered on top of him to settle in his lap, kissing Derek hard and grinding down so that their hard cocks lined up. Derek let out a low growl when Stiles shifted to get a better angle and then hot hands were on Stiles’s waist, flipping them to press Stiles into the cold, hard floor. He couldn’t even be bothered to care about the cold tile against his back, not when it meant that the warm weight of Derek’s body was pressed over his.

Derek held himself partly up off of Stiles, even when Stiles reached up to place flat palms against his back and try to encourage him to press more fully against him. Derek kept hovering over him and his arms and shoulders, where they appeared in Stiles’ peripheral vision, were straining with the effort (and it really shouldn’t have been so hot that he was basically holding a push-up, but it really was), but he leaned in to press hard, biting kisses Stiles’s mouth; sucking his lower lip until it tingled and thrusting his tongue in a way that made Stiles buck up even though he couldn’t quite reach Derek’s body to get any friction. It didn't take long for Stiles to start squirming in annoyance at the lack of attention the rest of his body was getting, but Derek noticed right away and his mouth was suddenly gone from Stiles’s because Derek had pushed himself down so he was kneeling around Stiles’s legs and curling over to trail tonguing kisses up from the waistband of Stiles’s underwear. 

“Fuck,” Stiles choked out when Derek’s tongue swirled around his bellybutton—who knew it was that sensitive though, seriously? He managed to keep himself mostly still until Derek licked a hot stripe across his right nipple, biting down gently once before pulling up and away, and using one hand to search across the counter above them while Stiles lay panting on the floor beneath him.

Stiles saw a flash of silver and then heard the clonk of metal hitting tile behind his head. He craned his head back and saw a mixing bowl; he was opening his mouth to question its purpose when Derek made a quick move, swiping a hand towards the bowl and then immediately dipping two fingers into Stiles’s open mouth. Stiles automatically closed his lips around the digits, tongue flooding with a burst of sweetness and suddenly he remembered that the bowl was full of icing and— Oh, apparently Derek had some interesting ideas about where this was going and Stiles really did not mind at all.

Stiles realized that his eyes had fallen closed and opened them only to find Derek’s intense, darkened gaze staring right back at him. Their eyes stayed locked even as Derek pulled his fingers slowly out of Stiles’s mouth, the suction making a little “pop” as they finally slipped free. Derek leaned in slowly and licked across the seam of Stiles’s lips. He pulled back and Stiles could see the predatory tilt of his lips before he heard “open” and barely processed the instruction before Derek was kissing him again, tongue sweeping in to taste.

Stiles moaned, back arching and dick aching for friction as Derek’s hand roamed over his stomach and scratched lightly through the trail of hair below his belly button over and over, both tickling and sending shocks of shivery pleasure through his body in waves.

“C’mon Derek, please.” Stiles managed when they pulled apart for air. He had to force himself to string words together even though he would have preferred just to whine in frustration. “You need to do  _something_.”

“I am doing something,” Derek replied, leaning in to kiss Stiles again. The hand on Stiles’s stomach disappeared, but moments later there was cool, thick icing being smeared across his nipples and the feel of Derek’s fingers gently twisting and pinching at the sensitive nubs.

Stiles’s toes curled, and his nails dug hard into Derek’s back the moment Derek lined up their erections so they could rock together again. Stiles groaned and let one hand grab at Derek’s hip to try to keep him there, even as Derek bent his body in a way that looked impossible so that he could suck one buttercream covered nipple into his mouth. The hand that wasn’t on Derek’s hip curled into his hair, and Stiles couldn’t do much other than hold him there and writhe under Derek’s hands and tongue and the friction from his cock—and  _god_ why weren’t they naked yet?

Derek moved to the other nipple, biting and lapping at the sweet cream covering it until Stiles used the hand in his hair to tug Derek up his body for a kiss. “Can we be naked now?” Stiles muttered against Derek’s mouth. Derek groaned, hips thrusting down hard once more before he rolled to the side so he was facing Stiles. Derek’s hand trailed down Stiles’s stomach again, and Stiles could feel his muscles tense under the feeling, pleasure coursing through him continuously until Derek’s palm landed over his dick and squeezed. Stiles shuddered, and then the hand was gone from where he wanted it, but it was tugging at his underwear instead, and he supposed that was good too. It  _was_ what he wanted.

It didn’t take long for Derek to drag Stiles’s underwear off, but then he was gone again, on his feet and across the kitchen and Stiles just wanted him to come back. Stiles pushed himself up to sitting and looked around, finding Derek digging through a leather satchel that was hanging with his coat. As much as he Stiles wanted Derek to be back with him, pressing him into the floor, he could appreciate the view of his ass encased only in tight fabric, and his bare back with a clear view of the tattoo (and seriously that was  _hot_ , Stiles wanted to trace the swirls with his tongue, and bite at the dimples created by the muscles in his shoulders).  

Derek finally made his way back, one hand closed around something and the other working at pulling off his underwear as he walked. Stiles was practically drooling by the time Derek got back to him, watching the way the muscles in his legs shifted, and his long, hard dick bounced as he walked back. Stiles grabbed at Derek’s thigh to encourage him back down to the floor, and Derek went willingly, dropping the condom and tiny bottle of lube he had obviously scrounged from his bag onto the floor beside him.

As soon as Derek was straddling him again, Stiles reached out and wrapped one hand around his cock, stroking slowly and marveling at the weight of it in his hand. Derek shifted and groaned quietly above him as Stiles twisted his wrist; it only took a few swipes of his thumb along the ridge of his cock before Derek was panting and pressing forward to back Stiles onto the floor again, forcing him to stop. “Hey, no!” Stiles said, trying to sit up again and reaching one hand out for Derek’s dick, but Derek shook his head and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he finally gritted out, and Stiles finally relented and lay back, staying propped up on his elbows so he could look at Derek. Derek quickly grabbed the lube and slicked up three fingers before dropping the bottle again. He leaned in to kiss Stiles, distracting him while he traced around Stiles’s hole and slowly worked the first finger in. Stiles wriggled a little, pressing against the intrusion and trying to relax until it started to feel good.

Derek took his time, but didn’t pause excessively before sitting back on his heels and working a second finger in beside the first. It hurt more than the first, and Stiles was happy for the distraction (and, if he was honest, the help staying hard despite the twinges of pain) when Derek wrapped his free hand around Stiles’s cock and started to jerk him off slowly, with just enough friction to keep him focused on the pleasure rather than the pain.

Long minutes passed with Derek working his fingers in and out, scissoring and stretching until it barely hurt when he pressed in with three fingers. Stiles bucked his hips the moment Derek found his prostate, fingers pressing against it rhythmically until Stiles was trying to press back and forth between the channel of the first Derek had wrapped around him and the delicious press of the three fingers inside of him. Stiles whimpered, body beginning to tighten and warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach as he thrashed under Derek trying to get just that little bit more that he needed to come.

The moment Derek realized how close Stiles was both of his hands disappeared from Stiles's body. Stiles was barely coherent, but he batted at the air trying to grab Derek and drag him back. He heard the tear of a foil packet, and then Derek was shifting between Stiles’s legs and hooking one of them up over his shoulder until Stiles was completely open and bared for him, still panting and arching and waiting for Derek to give him what he wanted.

“Ready?” Derek barely whispered the word, and Stiles nodded frantically, head bumping against the floor as he tried to prove that  _yes_ he was ready, and would Derek just  _put his dick in already_? Derek leaned in, hovering over Stiles and then kissing him once before he  _finally_  lined himself up and began to press into Stiles slowly.

Stiles pressed back against the blunt pressure, scrambling his hands against Derek’s back and shoulders to try to encourage him to press in faster, to give him  _more._ “Fuck, c’mon Derek, I won’t break.” Derek growled lowly and leaned in to press a kiss to Stiles’s mouth that was all teeth and tongue. He bottomed out, hips pressed tight against Stiles’s ass, and paused only long enough to annoy Stiles into digging his nails hard into Derek’s shoulder in encouragement.  Derek finally began snapping his hips and thrusting hard, eliciting a choked off, breathy moan from Stiles as they worked towards building a rhythm.

They didn’t last long; hands grappling against sweaty skin and tugging at each other’s hair, sloppy kisses interspersed with half words and groaned sounds of pleasure, and hard, slapping thrusts that would surely leave bruises, all gave way quickly to arched backs and cries of ecstasy.

They lay there, panting on the floor of the bakery kitchen, breathless, sweaty, and sticky from come and icing. Stiles wasn’t sure he would be able to move if asked, what with his legs feeling like jello and knowing how sore his ass would be once he did move. He didn’t care though, it was well more than worth a little bruising to have sex like that with someone who looked like Derek.

“Fuck,” Stiles eventually muttered. And then he heard a chuckle—an honest to god laugh—from the man next to him.

“I guess coming back here to cool off didn’t work so well then.” Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, his expression betraying his confusion.

“Wait, what?”

“Fuck it,” Derek said quietly. “I came back here to give myself a minute so that I wouldn’t drag you across the counter, and then of course you went and  _followed_ me.” Derek paused for a moment. “Do you seriously not have  _any_ sense of what ‘employees only’ means?”

Stiles shrugged, shoulders rubbing against the floor at the action. “Pretty sure I’ll never respect one of those signs again if it leads to sex like that.”

“That had better mean you’re coming back sometimes soon.”

“Are you propositioning me Mr. …” Stiles’s face scrunched in thought.

“Hale.” Stiles’s eyes went wide, and a laugh poured out of him.

“Oh my god. Hale and Oats! Seriously?  _Seriously_ Derek?  Where’s your mustache?”

Derek just groaned. “I’m pretty sure the moustache was Oates.”


End file.
